Aphrodite's Tears

by Hannah Fielding

  The tension between them seemed to turn her bones into fluid. Every inch of Oriel was aware of him, of his powerful frame and those long, elegant brown hands that were now idly playing with the stem of his glass.

  Hassan came in again, this time bearing a beautiful golden cake. He took away the earthenware crock of goat stew, changed the plates, and placed the cake in the middle of the table.

  ‘Karydopita, our national walnut cake,’ Damian told her. ‘Quite delicious. It is made with breadcrumbs, crusted walnuts, cinnamon and cloves, and then drenched in syrup. We have our own recipe, of course,’ he smiled. He placed a slice of the gooey cake on a plate and passed it to Oriel, then proceeded to open another bottle of wine.

  ‘Not for me, thank you,’ she said, raising a hand. ‘I’ve already had too much to drink.’

  ‘What are you afraid of now?’ he queried, his expression faintly amused but almost detached as he assessed the graveness of her face.

  Oriel met his eyes determinedly. ‘I’m not afraid, but I think that I’ve already indulged myself too much tonight.’

  ‘Do you not like our wine, or is it your English restraint that holds you back?’

  ‘No, it’s my common sense,’ she answered quietly, attempting cool civility. Of course she had lied when she said she was not afraid of him. He did frighten her a little, not because of his scars, or even his overbearing manner – but because she was tempted by him, just as much as before. Perhaps even more so.

  He filled his glass and took a sip of wine. ‘There’s no harm in indulging oneself from time to time,’ he said, his voice tinged with a slight drawl of amusement. His deep gaze embarrassed her suddenly and she picked up the small silver fork to start on her cake.

  From somewhere far away in the night came the faint echoes of a flute, floating like a breath over the hills. The low woody sound was almost as spellbinding as Damian’s voice, Oriel thought. ‘I like that sound … a flute. Who would be playing at this time of night?’

  ‘Oh, a shepherd sitting on the hill outside his shed.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘I see no wedding ring on your finger, are you not married?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Engaged?’

  She glanced at him. ‘Nope.’

  ‘I would have thought with your beauty, and the impressive credentials I read on your résumé, you would have been snapped up by now. In Greece, a girl of your age would already be a wife and mother,’ he said in his usual forthright manner.

  It was on the tip of Oriel’s tongue to retort that it was none of his business what she did with her life, but she bit it back. ‘I’ve not found the right partner, that’s all.’

  ‘On Helios, it is for the parents to find the right person to take care of their daughter. They are the best judge of what is best for her. That way, it’s very rare for a woman to stay unmarried.’

  Oriel shot him an ironic look. ‘Really? How very convenient for everybody except for the lady concerned. What about love?’

  Only then did she remember something else. He’s been married. His wife had died. Was theirs an arranged match? Had he loved her? Yorgos had mentioned that Damian only ever had feelings for one woman. Was it his wife?

  Damian continued, seemingly ignorant of her unease. ‘You see, love is a sweet and savage combat, more so in a land like mine. Women need protection against the softness of their heart and that is why, here, a woman always belongs to a man. He is her shield, her protector. Her father first, then her husband.’

  ‘The sexual revolution has clearly passed Helios by,’ Oriel noted drily.

  ‘Modern women are losing their femininity. By doing away with those womanly characteristics with which God has endowed them, they have thrown to the wind everything that makes them different, secret, mysterious,’ he pinned her with an unwavering look, ‘and therefore desirable to a real man.’

  She stared at him. Such words were demeaning to any woman, yet she couldn’t deny a tremor of arousal that made her curse herself. She lifted her chin. ‘I really don’t much care for those sorts of ideas, they belong in the dark ages. The world has moved on, in case you hadn’t noticed. As owner of this island you should be trying to enlighten your people instead of holding them back.’

  ‘Tell me, Calypso, have you ever let a man have the last word?’

  ‘Rarely, if I could help it,’ she replied, with a raised eyebrow.

  At this he laughed out loud, and Oriel was caught off guard once more, as earlier in the garden. This was different, however. She remembered this husky, exotic sound and now she saw a flash of the old Damian, the warmth of the man she’d known so briefly before.

  ‘Anyhow, to return to what we were saying,’ she said, endeavouring to focus her mind again, ‘I don’t see what all this has to do with my being married or not.’

  He smiled. ‘It definitely has to do with whether you have any attachments. This could turn into a long assignment. Is there someone in England waiting for you?’

  ‘I didn’t say that I would take the job.’

  Damian seemed to be idly watching the wine in his glass, its changing colour as he moved it gently in the candlelight. ‘Really? You’ve signed a contract. Breaking it would cost me a lot of money and heartache. Without wishing to flatter you, archaeologists of your calibre, especially those trained to work underwater, aren’t easy to come by.’

  She enjoyed the triumph of hearing him acknowledge her worth. Still, that didn’t solve all her problems. ‘I admit that I find the job description very interesting and the experience it’d give me would help further my career beyond anything I’ve done before.’

  ‘But?’

  Oriel finished her cake and, putting down her fork, looked him straight in the eye. ‘I would like to be treated like the rest of your employees. The fact that we knew each other almost a decade ago is irrelevant.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Moira, fate, le destin, destino, maktoub … the word exists in every language. The hidden forces that are at work behind the scenes, arranging our lives ahead of our own decisions.’

  ‘That notion exists only in Greek tragedies.’

  ‘I disagree, I believe things happen for a purpose. Sometimes they are there to test us, other times to give us a second chance. Fate has thrown us together in a particular way. Who are we to say there isn’t some purpose behind it?’

  She glanced at him dubiously. ‘The only coincidence here is that I read your advert. As you said yourself, archaeologists with my sort of background are not common, and this promises to be the job of a lifetime, so obviously I would have applied for it.’

  ‘Actually, we received a very good response.’ He gave her a rakish smile. ‘But I recognized you from your photograph. You haven’t changed that much … though now I detect a touch of pain in those emerald eyes of yours, and a bitter edge to your voice.’

  Did he not see the irony of his own words?

  ‘No one can assume life to be all smiles and no scratches, don’t you think?’

  Oriel was a little shocked at her own bluntness but Damian had ruffled her feathers with his patronizing assessment of the woman she had become.

  He ran his hand over his scar pensively. ‘Touché,’ he murmured. ‘I expect so.’ He then pushed his wine glass to one side. ‘Katanoitó, now then, I have told you about the job, and you have admitted that this would be an opportunity not to be missed. What is your answer? Do we have an agreement that you will stay?’

  Oriel looked at him squarely. She would give him his answer, but on her own terms. ‘I’d be grateful if we could discuss it in the morning. I’ll sleep on it.’

  Hassan came into the room to clear the table, interrupting what was turning into an awkward conversation.

  ‘Ah, coffee,’ said Damian, rising from the table. ‘Shall we have it outside? The night is balmy and now there’s a light breeze from the sea.’

  Oriel acquiesced and they went out on to the vast terrace, lit by wrought-iron lanterns, with its comfortable Ll
oyd Loom armchairs. Huge terracotta pots, set at different levels, overflowed with brilliant blooms of honeysuckle and roses that lent a sweet fragrance to the air.

  She moved to the wide balustrade and stared down at the spectacular landscape spread out below. The moonlight shone clearly, illuminating the terrace and falling brilliantly on the garden, etching the trees in a graceful silhouette; it was a world of peace and beauty, so still that in the distance beyond them she could hear the song of the sea on the outer reef, breaking with a soft rhythm. The scents of the night-bound island hung in the atmosphere, and the croaking of bullfrogs from the pond could be heard plainly. Oriel found it intoxicating. The enchantment of Helios was upon her, that spell by which this ancient place made her own those whom she elected; the kind of sorcery from which there is no escape, which lifts men and women to heaven or drags them down to hell.

  ‘This place is quite unique,’ she murmured, almost imperceptibly.

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘How can one not?’ she whispered, hugging her arms around herself and inhaling deeply.

  He came to stand beside her. ‘I’m happy that at least one aspect of this assignment has met with your approval. I hope, by morning, others will seem equally favourable and you will cease your …’ Damian hesitated and his lips gave that little twist of a smile, ‘… prevarication.’

  ‘If I’m prevaricating, it’s with good reason. I need to think about it.’

  ‘What is there to think about?’

  She eyed him sideways with a wry smile. ‘Oh, I can think of a few things.’

  ‘Is all this about your pride, because I recognized your photograph? I can assure you that your résumé was the most impressive among the twenty applicants who applied for the job.’ Damian waved a hand as if to dismiss her objections. ‘Besides, Stavros Petrakis, my head of works, was the one to shortlist you. Your credentials made quite an impression on him. When your résumé was brought to me, there was only one other candidate who seemed suitable and he couldn’t start until next month. It was a no-brainer.’

  Oriel said nothing but just stared out into the starlit sky. He seemed to have an answer for everything and she no longer knew what to think. The air vibrated with tension. Damian took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered her one.

  ‘Do you smoke?’

  ‘No, not any more. I used to. Bad habit.’

  ‘Do you mind if I do?’

  She glanced at him briefly. ‘No, go ahead, please …’

  Damian lit his cigarette and the flame from the lighter illuminated his face, accentuating the deep indentation marring its once beautiful symmetry. He looked at Oriel for several long, lingering moments. ‘You really don’t trust me, do you?’ he said softly, his eyes narrowing on her tense expression behind the spiral of smoke.

  She picked her words carefully. ‘Your estate manager thought you’d find me unsuitable and would send me back immediately. In fact, he almost tried to dissuade me from staying. He told me strange things have happened on the island. That a young woman who’d been working on the site had decided to leave very suddenly last night.’

  Damian’s face darkened. ‘Yorgos has his own agenda. He is very efficient at his job and I’ve known him all my life, which is why I allow him more latitude than I do most, but he’s somewhat unpredictable.’ He drew on his cigarette and switched his gaze to the shadowy outlines of the garden. ‘I admit that a young lady, who had been contracted to help on the dig and in the estate office, decided to leave. That was her decision and I couldn’t stop her.’

  Now that she had him on the defensive, Oriel decided to press him further. ‘Apparently, a similar incident occurred last year, when another student also left in a hurry.’

  Damian muttered something under his breath. ‘I’m impressed! You haven’t been here twenty-four hours and you’re already well informed about the trivia that occupies the wagging tongues and idlers of this island.’

  ‘But a similar incident did occur, didn’t it?’

  He paused and put one hand in his pocket as he smoked, as if deliberating whether or not to answer her question. ‘You seem very interested in the local gossip. What does it matter why these women left?’

  ‘It matters if I’m to be working in the same conditions. They were both part of your team.’ Perhaps it was inappropriate for her to pursue this line of questioning but he hadn’t given her a direct answer. Nothing he’d said had contradicted her fear that these women had been used by him and then cast aside when he’d become bored.

  ‘Yes, they were, but they were unpredictable enough to leave without working their notice … so perhaps it’s for the best that they’re gone.’ He glanced at her, the moonlight making his eyes glow even more brightly. ‘You’re different.’

  ‘Am I?’ Something in the way he spoke made Oriel search his face. She wanted so badly to believe that was true; that she wasn’t just another employee that Damian intended to use as his plaything.

  Hassan appeared on the terrace with a tray of coffee and a plate of sweetmeats, which he placed on the table. Neither Damian nor Oriel said a word as he moved about soundlessly before leaving them alone once more.

  ‘How do you take your coffee?’

  ‘Black. No sugar, please.’

  Damian went over to the table, lifted what Oriel recognized as an antique Persian Qajar silver pot and poured the coffee from the long curved spout. There arose a delectable aroma as the fresh coffee whirled ink-black into the cups. ‘It’s strong and bitter,’ he said, ‘not like the brown-coloured water you get served in some restaurants abroad. Are you sure you won’t have sugar or milk?’

  ‘Quite sure, thank you.’ Oriel smiled. She herself wasn’t fond of the weak brew they called coffee in England either. ‘I’ve travelled in Greece, as well as Turkey and Egypt, where the coffee is much stronger and thicker than this. In fact, in Greece I’ve always been served Turkish coffee, especially in shops. Shopkeepers are always keen to offer you a cup of coffee. Everyone is so very hospitable here.’

  ‘It’s what we call philoxenia, an awareness of the needs of strangers. “If it were not for guests, all houses would be graves,” that’s what Khalil Gibran says. A truth which the Greeks firmly believe.’ He motioned to the chairs. ‘Would you like to sit?’

  ‘Actually, I’m happy here with this wonderful view,’ she answered, turning to look at the garden.

  The breeze blew warm, carrying upon it the intoxicating fragrance of flowers and shrubs. From her vantage point, Oriel could see a pergola in the form of a small temple, its shallow steps descending between high hedges of Surinam cherry and oleander like an overgrown classical ruin in an eighteenth-century folly garden. A tangle of plants flowed over its stone terrace and the surrounding trees wrapped in passion-flower vines created a breathtaking view. The night was hushed save for the trickle of water in the nearby pond, filled with arum lilies and water lettuce.

  Damian moved back to the balcony, handing Oriel the cup and studying her with open intent for a few moments. ‘In the moon your hair shines like silver.’ His eyes remained fixed on her while he drank his coffee, and once again she felt that she was being magnetized by his silvery gaze, so vitally piercing it was almost surreal.

  She knew that look – oh yes, she knew it too well. It had hypnotized her years ago, and now its captivating power was washing ripples of weakness along her spine, arousing a clamouring desire deep inside her that threatened to force her to her knees and, along with it, an emotion she dared not indulge.

  Oriel blinked. She didn’t know how she felt any more. She was wound up, jumbled inside like a disordered jigsaw puzzle. Her mind told her to run from this Greek god as soon as she had the opportunity; her body was longing to surrender to him. If only she could think clearly. If only she could convince herself that her body, as well as her mind, was equally able to resist Damian’s devastating sensuality.

  ‘It has been a long day, eh?’

  Oriel drained her cup. ‘
It’s been an interesting day, certainly. Thank you for your hospitality, it was a delicious dinner.’

  ‘The first of many, I hope.’

  ‘Perhaps. Though if I take the job, I’m sure I’ll be happy eating at the local taverna with the rest of the team,’ she said mildly.

  His brow furrowed. ‘If you take the job, we’ll be discussing this stubborn idea of yours about staying at the staff house.’ He took the empty cup from her and placed it with his on the broad surface of the balustrade.

  Oriel wasn’t in the mood to enter into another argument about it now. ‘Really, there’s no need for your concern,’ she said. ‘I’ve already told you, I’ve worked on many excavations around the world. There were only ever a handful of women on the digs. Most of the teams I’ve worked with were male-dominated.’

  ‘It’s true, this is a man’s world.’

  The moonlight and the night shadows played over his face and revealed the hint of wickedness in his smile. He moved towards her and braced his arm against the balustrade, caging her between the stone balcony and his body.

  ‘I’m used to it.’ She held his gaze defiantly. ‘But times are changing, didn’t you know?’

  ‘Ah yes, women’s lib, isn’t that what you call it in England? I’m guessing you subscribe to their point of view, that you want to be … liberated.’

  She swallowed, painfully aware of his proximity. ‘If you mean that I want equality at work, the same rights and freedoms as a man, and to be treated with respect, then, yes, I’d call myself a feminist. I take it you don’t believe in those things? Judging by your earlier remarks, you see a woman as merely a wife and mother.’

  ‘On the contrary, if that were the case, I wouldn’t have hired you for this job. You were the best around.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so.’

  His mouth curled at the edges in a lazy, sensual manner. ‘Still, that doesn’t mean I think a woman should lose her softness and femininity. If you were to go to the staff house, I can’t vouch for how the men would react. You would be too much of a temptation for them, I think.’